Deus Ex Machina

It is a story told the worlds round, whispered when one thinks no one is looking.

Lucifer stormed into God’s throne room with a fury that roiled the sky. He Judged his father in wrath, mad with the hunger of the Abyss he had traded his heart to for wisdom.

The room was empty. God was gone.

Under the ashes of broken sky knelt a girl at the golden throne. She wept, red hair long in sorrow. His heart twinged at what he had done, but he swallowed his remorse. In God’s throne sat a child. Metatron, his Last Word. Blue-eyed and silent, watching. A silver crown shown on his white hair.

Lucifer moved to slay him.

“No!” The girl cried out. “Haven’t you done enough? You would kill a child for vengeance? He is innocent!”

“Eve, you idiot. Do not get in my way!” he said harshly. His eyes were alien to her. Completely swallowed by the void. She was the only one that had seen his madness, when all Heaven was blind to it. Now, he was part of the blackness. He wore a severe robe, sharp like the edge of a blade. There was nothing of the softness she had know.

“Have I taught you nothing?” He raised his sword, eyes keen. He tried to reason with her. “I will restore justice. For my brothers. For our dream. Death is the price of freedom.”

“I hate you! All you say are lies. You are a monster.”

Lucifer froze. His last shred of humanity flickered, turning his eyes their soft violet. It fled, and the void swallowed it, making them pits. Eve, horrified, could not look away from the light at the end of their tunnels. His voice was raw and ragged, like the arctic wind.

“I am the highest of angels, the most beautiful. What have you become? I am your teacher, your keeper, and you side with the Father? Everything I have done, I have done for you, the Soul. I love you. Now please, do not interfere.”

For the first time in her life, Eve defied him. “You know nothing of love,” she spat. The words broke her heart and her laughter. In eons later, Lucifer would wish for it, but hear silence, the sea of darkness locked in his chest cold as death.

In that moment, he was at his wickedest. Desire stripped him to the truth, now a skeleton of razor wit. A crown of thorns twined round his skull.

“You are mine!” he roared in a voice that shook all the heavens, roaring over the falling corpses of angels as his army shredded their souls apart. That sound, wretched, degraded into a cry. It was chaos, something the angels, sweet of music, had never heard.

Michael heard it outside the door, saw what Lucifer had done. He has not smiled since.

He left the corpse of a child. In hunger, Lucifer ripped open his chest, stole the woman, and chained her inside, in black alchemy made her his heart, so that he could live on in the darkness with heaven’s light.

Michael did not cast him out. Lucifer broke the heart of his brother. At the lip of the abyss, he made a choice. It has rippled waves through time and played like dust on the minds of poets. Each night since, he has torn open his chest, skinned himself to bloody shreds searching for answers.

He has yet to find one.


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